A Swath of Gold

A gleaming swath of gold appears

When I look down below.

From here, not one thing interferes

With Nature’s autumn show.

 

For down 9 stories, there are trees

With dazzling yellow leaves,

Though there are never guarantees,

Despite what one believes,

 

That year to year that lovely view

Will be exactly thus,

Since sometimes when a storm’s a‘brew,

There’s nothing to discuss.

 

When wind and rain join forces, they

May strip those branches bare

And we don’t have the slightest say

To keep that yellow there.

 

Yet this time, we’ve been sent a gift,

For every window glance

Gives me a cause to smile, a lift

That Nature sometimes grants.